


When All Else Fails

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:17:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon wakes up in Heaven, but where is Illya?</p>
            </blockquote>





	When All Else Fails

Illya spared Napoleon a fast glance and steadied his gun on the pile of rubble they were hiding behind.  “We’re going to die, aren’t we, Napoleon?”

Napoleon Solo had to admit to the obvious.  They were trapped, down to the last couple of clips for their weapons, no chance of escape.  “I think probably so, yes.”  He flashed a quick smile at his partner and ducked as a bullet ricocheted past, sending up a spray of sharp stone shrapnel.  Napoleon could feel a warm trickle down his cheek and knew he’d been cut.  Both of them were already bleeding from a dozen similar cuts and scrapes. “Seems a shame to have it end like this.”

“What, with us in battle, you entertained another ending for us?”  Illya fell to the ground and let the spent clip drop from his pistol.  “Perhaps you imagined a nice quiet retirement, a little white house, a picket fence.”

“Well, not when you say it like that.”  Napoleon snapped off a shot and smiled grimly at the responding shout of pain.   “But it would have been nice to have settled down, had a family… a semblance of a normal life.”

“Not us, my friend.”  Illya was back up, using one hand to steady his other.  It was trembling because of the bullet he’d taken in it already.  “I always knew we’d die young.  That is the way it is with our kind.  Still, I don’t begrudge a moment of it.”  He dropped his head and started to breathe hard.

“Hold on, Illya, we still have things to do.”

“I know…”  The response was weak, but steady.  “I’m just tired.”

“Then what say we end this?”

“How?”  Illya was back up and blinking the sweat from his eyes.

“You ever see _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid_ – the movie, I mean?”

“Yes, last summer, Pam wanted to go.”

“Remember their charge at the end?”

Illya nodded slowly.  “All right, I’m game if you are.  It’s better than letting them take us and torturing us to death.”  He offered his hand, dirty and flecked with blood.  “It’s been a good partnership, Napoleon, thank you.”

“Pleasure has been all mine, partner.  On three then - one, two. THREE.”

They were both up and charging, their guns blazing.  Napoleon could feel the bullets plucking at his clothes.  He could see Illya’s body buck and thrash with each hit.  They fell almost together and Napoleon reached out, touched Illya’s arm and smiled.  “I’ll see you on the other side…” but Illya was already gone… he thought.

 

Suddenly Napoleon was standing, looking around in confusion.  He was in a field, the grass so green it hurt his eyes, the sky above, so blue it almost vibrated.

“It’ll get itself righted in a skosh, it just gets all catty whumpus when a newcomer arrives.”  

Napoleon blinked furiously, then recognized the voice.  He spun, so fast that he nearly fell over. “Grampa?”

“Hello, boy, we’ve been expecting you.”  The man’s arms were as familiar and warm as Napoleon remembered.  

“But you’re dead.”

“Ah yup.”

“Then I’m…” He looked around happily.  “Where’s Illya?”

“Who would that be then?  That skinny blond fella?”  The man shook his head slowly.  “He ain’t coming with us, son.  He can’t go where we got to go.”

“But he’s a good man.  He deserves this.”

“Well, some might say so, others they might not, but it isn’t up to us.”

“If he’s not coming, neither am I.”

“Napoleon…” 

He’d almost forgotten what she sounded like, it had been so long.  “Joyce?”

“Hello, sweetheart.”  She reached out her arms to him and Napoleon took a step towards her, then he stopped.  There was something wrong here…

“No… not if it means leaving Illya behind.”

“He… he isn’t part of this, sweetheart.  This place is for believers.  We believed and we were rewarded.  He didn’t and for that, he isn’t welcomed.”

Napoleon took a step back.  “Then this isn’t the place for me either.”

“But you’re a believer, Napoleon.”  Joyce was so close he could smell her perfume, Chanel No. 5, her favorite.

“Yes, I believe a man has the right to think for himself, to do as much as he can and more for the sake of his fellow man.  I believe that there is good in every man. No matter his race, creed, or religion.  I believe in hope and justice and I believe in my partner.  Any place barred to him won’t welcome me either for I’ll have none of it.”

“You don’t have a choice, son.”  His grandfather grabbed him and started dragging him toward this brilliant light.  Inside, Napoleon instinctively knew, there would be peace and freedom from any petty woes and he wasn’t having any of it.  Not without…

“Illya!” he shouted and he could just make out his partner’s outline in the distance, hands reached out towards him. “Illya!”

“Shh, I’m here, Napoleon.”

Napoleon opened his eyes and blinked the tears away.  “Illya?”

“You took a helluva ride, my friend.  Just rest.”

The familiar setting of Medical settled around him.  He looked towards the voice, sighing at the sight of his partner in the next bed.

“What happened?  I thought we were dead.”

“You were for approximately three and a half minutes.”  Illya’s smile was tired, but warm.  “Apparently, we got a message through after all.  They arrived just as we made our charge.  It distracted our assailants enough that they were taken by surprise.  Some fancy medical work did the rest.”

The door opened. A doctor and two nurses entered, followed closely by Mr. Waverly.  

“How are you feeling, son?”  The gravelly voice was music to Napoleon’s ears.  

“All things considered, not too bad.”

“That’s because of the pain meds…”   Illya muttered as the nurses moved to him.  One began to pull the curtain and Illya shook his head.  “Not necessary… please?”

One of the nurses glanced over at Napoleon.  “Wouldn’t you like a little privacy?”

“Not from him.  We long since gave up such things.”

The other nurse began to check various lines that ran in and out of Illya’s body and Napoleon refocused his attention on Mr. Waverly.

“That was a damn fool thing you did back there, Mr. Solo.”

“Yes, sir.”

Waverly patted him gently on an unbandaged spot on his arm.  “Good man.  Try and get some rest now.  I’ll be back to check on you both later.”

Illya was so quiet, Napoleon wasn’t sure the man hadn’t nodded off before the doctor and nurses were finished with them.  He studied his partner’s profile for a long moment.  “Illya?”

“Yes, Napoleon?”

“Do you want to know what Heaven was like?”

“Did it involve scantily clad, well-endowed women?”

“I didn’t see any.”

“Was there food there?  Drink?”

“Not that I saw.”

“Sure you weren’t in the other place, my friend?”  Illya’s lips played at a smile.  “That sounds like Hell to me.”

“It was – you weren’t there.”


End file.
